


Tonight

by Glyphron



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Brooding, F/M, Intimacy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glyphron/pseuds/Glyphron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Prompt ~ He didn't like the way she made him feel. Tonight, he was going to change that. One way or another.)</p>
<p>Hadrianna is finally dead, finally gone. But, her death has reminded Fenris that, Hawke too, is a mage. Capable of falling from grace to blood magic, like any other. Apart of him fears this, his paranoia awakened by his enemy. Another part of him cannot stop thinking of all the good she has done and how much he's come to care for her. A war raging inside him, he confronts Hawke, only to submit to his need for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Contains smut (just for extra measure), you have been warned.

Hadrianna was dead, removed from the chase that forever hunted him. In the anger she wrought in him, he had walked away, abandoned the person he could not bear to admit he hid behind. Had Hawke not been there, it was unknown if he would have ever confronted Danarius's apprentice on his own. And, after, he found himself trailing his hate back to her mansion, to make excuses why he could not forgive. When he had spoken his feelings into the open, he again ran away, coldly disregarding her claims of friendship. But, now, Marianna haunted him like never before.

Somehow, he'd all but forgotten she was not to be trusted. A mage, like any other, deep inside, no doubt. He had fallen to become smitten by her. He had come to accept feelings of want and need for her, betraying his ideals. Of all the evil Hadrianna inflicted, the only good thing she had ever done was to awaken him to the spell he was under. Making him realize just how far he had wandered from the trusted path. How was it possible he had lost sight of everything real?

Mages performed blood magic, that was real. They sought power and control over others, that was real. They lied, manipulated, destroyed, THAT was real. But he was illusioned by her mock care, the way she 'displayed' kindness, her humanity....

Was it all a lie? How could he know? How could he be certain? Doubt poisoned the whole of his blood through every vein. He was lost, unable to see past the shadows of his perceptions. She was good at putting on a show, good at making one believe in her innocence. It never wavered in any of her actions and the recounts of her dealings that Varric boasted. 

Hadrianna had roused the paranoia bred within him from past days. And now, despite it all, in spite of everything she'd done for everyone, it convinced him of an imagined enemy. Turned his will against her.

He could not be sure of who she really was, if she wore a mask painted in angelic tones. At the same time, he could not quite accept that she wasn't real. That every tender administration to every wound he recieved was all a reuse. Or of all the times she put that pout on her face, amber eyes clouded with worry for his sake being an act. All the times she was there for him, with no decipherable reason to be could not be erased. All the things she had said through the years, the patience and encouragement did not vanish from his mind.

There was a war that echoed through him for days to come. Indecision on whether or not he was in real danger, if he had to run, or if he could stay. His sanity was frayed from years of abuse, his trust hard to find, and his enforced defensiveness accusitory. The sides of him broke even, half believing the reality beaten into him throughout his life, the other so very endearing of her. He found himself completely incapable of reaching an understanding, drowning in uncertainty. Every thought of her now brought warmth, desire. And that brought indescribable fear of what would become of him. This is how Fenris felt. Infected and sick with either false fear, or misconceived adoration.

He didn't sleep, hardly ate, never dreamed of anything else. At his wit's end he found himself returning to her door. He didn't like the way she made him feel. Tonight, he was going to change that. One way or another. 

Worked up into a frenzy, he held no hesitation until he met her eyes. He stormed in, and heard her call him by name. Head down, he confessed his obsession with her, and his gaze then aligned with hers. Her irises spoke of fear, not of him, but for him. And.... He believed them.... Against the terrified voices at his ear warning him to turn away. His demeanor became more gentle, more tempered towards her and warm. Offering a surrender to her enchanting expressions of soft concern.

"Command me to go, and I shall." 

Submission to follow words given was not something easily presented to others, but, for her.... He noticed he could not say no. His stomach twisted, nerves strung tight. She was so beautiful, could something as illuminated as a star truly be so deceiving? An ache he had never before known pained him. Not only physically, but, overpowering emotionally. He does not know it, but it is the need to love and be loved.

A gentle smile, "No need."

The noise of of neuroticies hush into silence, consumed by the deep need. He is wanted for more than his lyrium and obedience, her reply tells him so. And, he is pleased, almost euphoric, so broken....

He reaches for her, to touch, to prove what he is experiencing is real. Fenris forgets caution.

It begins with a kiss, sweet to his lips as he holds her. Escalates to luscious indulgence as she coaxes him to be pressed up against the wall, as full of need as he. He has never tasted kissing that he can remember, but instinct directs him to partake eagerly. It is a delicious activity, but only ignites more yearning. 

Before long, she pauses in their passionate feast, takes him by the hand and leads him to her bed chamber. He follows close, impatient to get there. As soon as the door closes, he presses her to it, only slightly more forceful than she'd done to him, demanding more caresses from her lips with his own. She complies, but her hands begin to wander. They brush up his arms, flaring his brands, but the sting this inflicts is minimal. He barely takes any notice of this discomfort, pleasure far outshining it's effects. 

They halt at his shoulders, her right hand continuing on after a moment to stroke his jawline with her delicate fingers. Then her arms wrap around his neck, tangling a hand in his hair. Her lips break from his, and trace where her fingertips had, not seconds before. Slowly they fall down, her breath heating the skin at his throat yet freezing him place. Soft wet kisses are applied there, her tongue flickering between markings with care. He shivers with the sensation, strong and new.

He is riled up, when she pulls her face away from his neck, hastily casting aside his gauntlets to reciprocate her touches as her hands begin exploring again. He takes his turn at her neck, getting a slight whimper as he bites too roughly by mistake in his excitement. But, neither is deterred in their play as they hunt the fasteners to each other's clothing.

She finds the buckle to his chest plate rather hastily and struggles to loose it, pressing her bosom tightly to him when it falls away. He pulls undone the buttons to her robes, aiding the fabric in slipping from her shoulders. Pressing his lips to freshly revealed skin, he moves to allow her to tug off his tunic. Allows her to run her hands appreciatively over his chest and moderately muscled abdomen. 

He steps back suddenly, looking her over as he finishes removing the dress. Making sure to rub his hands over her curves and pale skin as he studies. Goosebumps appear on her flesh prompting a smirk of intrigue to his mouth. This taunts her into closing the space between them, assaulting him with her lips to his again, her hands reaching to hold his hips and wrapping a leg around him. 

He places a hand to the small of her back bringing her as close as she can physically be, his other groping a supple breast. Then he hauls her to the bed and lays her upon it, coming to loom over her. She rests, sighing with delight as his hands go everywhere his lips moving to make contact all over her body. He wants to feel and know every part of her. He takes away the cloth binding her chest and goes to taste the flesh there, taken by surprise when she begins to move against him rhythmically as he approaches and slides his tongue over them. 

Her breathing is harshly exhaled through the air as he continues to vex her with strong desire for a while, finally coming to give in to the call of nature as her nails gently scrape at his back. Fenris can wait no longer. He sheds his trousers, accepting her help in taking them from his waist. In a blur the last remaining barriers are missing, and he enters her. A cry of pain escapes from her on bated breath and stills him. Briefly, he fears he will have to stop and depart from her. He is reassured when the grip of her embrace holds him in place. 

Soon, she thoughtfully urges him to move, and in the ecstasy brought on by his careful thrusts he collapses his weight on her. Finding quickly an easy tempo to follow, he cannot help but give sound to this experience. He has never known such pleasure or closeness. It is overwhelming, and he does not wait long for release.

With his climax achieved, he is unsure of what to do next, but she guides him to continue for a moment longer. Refusing to let him stop until she has had her fill. He complies, too content to mind. He is rewarded with an undiscovered sensation caused by her as her own climax pulses through. With it comes a strange, but wonderful pride.

With that done, he pulls from her to lay at her side. It was then that he realized he was covered in sweat and out of breath. Then that he could feel the dull ache of his tattoos. She curled against him, eyes closed and thoughts turning into sleep. 

He had come here for a reason, to confront her for what she really was. Only to fall prey to something he had never imagined. What was this? This feeling he could not rid himself of.... Had this been a mistake? He could not answer these questions and he was too weary to debate them. But, it did not stop him from doing so anyway. 

Hadrianna's cruel face flashed before his eyes, stirring him from his drifting. Her eyes overlapped an image of Hawke's, but, he knew they did not fit. No, Marianna was nothing like the magister, he knew she was not, he could feel it and could not keep his guard around her because of this. But, she was still a mage. He was not ready for this, his paranoia came flooding back in. 

He was not ready to accept a mage so completely. This was too much, it opposed everything he'd come to know and believe in. In the distress he worked up within his mind, it unleashed things he was convinced he could never have again. Torrents of memories, drowning him in their flood. They were all there, all accounted for. And then blown away like the flame of a candle. Just gone, lost all over once more. He couldn't handle this, couldn't bear it, couldn't take it....

In the end, as he walked away, abandoning her still as always, two things remained. He loved her, and he was afraid of what that meant. He had changed nothing, only made this harder on himself. Fenris was unprepared for the desperation that was ahead....


End file.
